Chapter 37
THIRTY-SEVEN
Atlas returned several hours later through whatever internal passage Icarus hadn’t bothered to investigate since Vincent and the warlock had vanished.
The shower kicked on, and Icarus kicked into gear, putting into action the plan he’d concocted while watching the sky lighten and the moon descend toward the ocean.
The eggs were almost done, the bacon sizzling, the leftover naan resuscitating in the oven, when Atlas emerged from his shower twenty minutes later in a fresh charcoal suit, looking like his usual wound-too-tight self.
“I like you better in buckles and kilts,” Icarus said as he turned the heat off the eggs.
“So do I,” Atlas replied, and Icarus nearly lost his spatula, the truth unexpected. “But that’s neither here nor there.” The dejection in Atlas’s voice was even more startling, but he didn’t give Icarus time to dwell, shuffling to a stop beside him. “What’re you doing?”
“Well,” Icarus said with a flourish of the wily spatula, “once I realized all your windows are tinted and that you may not be as evil as you want everyone to think, I cooked breakfast. Also masks the warlock smell.”
“There’s an express meal in the fridge.”
“Yes, which I already ate. You also have eggs and cheese”—he pointed at the skillet on the stove—“and bacon”—at the sheet pan of greasy goodness—“and naan”—at the toaster oven.
“We don’t have time for breakfast.”
By the time Atlas had retrieved one of those disgustingly bland protein shakes from the fridge, Icarus had, at full speed, retrieved the naan and filled two folded pieces with eggs and bacon.
He knocked the still unopened drink from Atlas’s hand and shoved a breakfast wrap into it instead.
“Eat it while we go wherever it is we need to go in a hurry.”
Atlas warily eyed the food. “Is it poisoned?”
Icarus picked up his own and munched through it.
“You’re a vampire. Even if it was, you wouldn’t die.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Atlas, just eat the damn food.”
Atlas grudgingly took a bite, then turned for the door and took a few more, his satisfied little hum making Icarus smile.
They made their way to the unit at the opposite end of the floor from Vincent’s.
Atlas knocked twice, then entered. Icarus followed him inside to what could only be described as a command center.
Most of the unit’s walls had been blown out, the space a true cavern, with only a kitchen and bathroom for dedicated areas.
Two cots were shoved in the corner furthest from the windows, while the rest of the open space was occupied by desks, computers, and monitoring equipment.
And paranormals. No other humans. Vampires, shifters, and the warlock from the strike on Monte Corvo.
Still pissed off it seemed, magic shimmering in the air when he spied Icarus.
Atlas moved between them, facing Icarus, as he popped the last bite of breakfast sandwich into his mouth. “Tell us where you’ll deliver Devlin.”
Icarus cocked a brow. “You’re licking your fucking fingers, and I don’t even get a thank you?”
“Icarus.”
Cocked a hip too.
“Fine, thank you, now”—he gestured at the giant map on one wall—“where will you deliver Devlin?”
Icarus stepped around the angry, angry warlocks and studied the map, assuming that was what Atlas-the-not-so-evil wanted.
It took a minute for the picture to resolve—to understand that each pin color meant a different source of paranormal power, to realize Vincent was sucking that power from covens, packs, and loners all over the area, creating a vortex at the center right over YB—and less than a second to determine they had to kill Vincent Cirillo.
ASAP.
“Where, Icarus?”
He composed his face, turned, and shrugged, flip as he could seem. “The Canyon Lands, of course.”
Atlas raked a hand through his hair, disrupting the blond coif. “Fucking vampire.”
Icarus wrinkled his nose. “Not right now, baby.” Sparring with him was almost as fun as sparring with Robin.
Come to think of it, watching the two of them spar would be epic, assuming they didn’t kill each other first. But first, they had to kill Vincent, which maybe Atlas was keen to help them do, which meant maybe Icarus shouldn’t piss him off.
He dropped the teasing act and channeled a little Adam.
“And not there, really. Devlin would suspect something. Club Sutro, where we met.”
Atlas stepped closer to one of the other shifters in the room. “Buy the place out for tomorrow night.”
While they coordinated, Icarus continued to take everything in before they wised up and threw him out. He drifted toward the vampire who had multiple books open on her desk and a smaller area map with green dots—same as the green pins on the larger map. “Is this what you have on the covens so far?”
“She sent us locations this morning,” Atlas answered him. Icarus didn’t miss the emphasis he’d put on the first word; he knew. But how much? Before Icarus could contemplate further, Atlas held a sheet of paper out to him. “She also sent us this.”
It was an email from an alias account he recognized. One that would ping an IP address in Portola, making it seem like she was still there. No subject line. Only one line of text in the message.
tsaEehtnIyL enoloSebotho
“We’re working it as a cypher,” Atlas said. “To get an exact location.”
Icarus laughed. “Stop trying so hard.”
The other vampire twisted in her chair. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I had this client once. Also a hacker.” Not really.
It was his sister who loved these games, always had.
For her protection, he shifted the facts a bit as he explained.
“Everything was a fucking riddle. Like the fact he dealt in code all day meant he had to make everyone else work for it too. But with words. He’d give me these rhymes about what he wanted—”
“Icarus!” Atlas snapped, his green eyes practically glowing.
“Reverse it, then read it. ‘Oh, to be so lonely in the east.’ Then take out the extra space. Ohlone in the East. The Ohlone shellmound in Encinal,” Icarus said as he gestured at a location near the concentration of green dots on the other side of the Bay. “Everyone knows it’s haunted.”
“Recon,” Atlas ordered the other warlock. “Go, and take a few shifters with you,” he added with a jut of his chin to the dog of some sort that was working the Sutro angle. “Take over for her,” he told the vampire.
“Are we sure—” the other magician started.
“No, which is the point of recon, and we’re burning daylight, so go.” The second of hesitation among the soldiers was enough to blow Atlas’s gaskets. “Move!”
Everyone jumped, including Icarus. While the rest of the room scurried into action, Atlas spun back to him and snatched the email from his hand. “We hit the coven tonight, and you’re coming with us.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Especially the part where Adam and company intercepted Vincent on the Huchiun Enclave, the Ohlone Island halfway between Yerba Buena and Encinal.
Isle in the Middle.
The message in the message she’d sent. The message meant for him.